Flying The Coop: A Crossover
by afrai
Summary: Death repeats some old mistakes. Rukia makes some new ones. Crossover with Terry Pratchett's Discworld.
1. Coup de grace

Author: afrai  
Summary: Death repeats some old mistakes; Rukia makes some new ones. A BLEACH/Discworld crossover.  
Disclaimer: Discworld and its delightful Death belong to the marvellous Terry Pratchett. BLEACH and its characters belong to the marvellous Kubo Tite.  
Notes: I can't actually pronounce any of these titles. I just nicked them off Who needs 'em?

**Coup de grace**

It was raining.

The cart rattled off into the darkness. Hisana lay on the road and tried to think.

She was too tired and ashamed to cry, but tears seeped out of her eyes anyway. They itched a tributary across her face, finally joining the sluggish waterway of blood oozing from her temples.

She hadn't expected it to end like this. It would be a lie to say that the shame was worse than the pain, and Hisana was of a basically honest nature, whatever her other faults. It had made life difficult for her, not that life had needed any help in that direction. At least it looked like she wasn't going to have to deal with that particular problem for much longer.

No, the pain was worse than anything, but since she had to bear it anyway, she would have preferred not to have the shame piled on top of it. That was the problem with being a coward, of course. No matter how fast you ran, shame always got there before you.

"Rukia," she whispered. Her sister was crying, the indignant siren wail of a baby who has been badly treated by the world and doesn't care who knows it. She wasn't encountering any such serious trouble as hunger, stained diapers, or terminal dismemberment -- it was a wail of sheer temper. Hisana was all too familiar with it. Rukia had always been a vocal child.

She groped in the darkness with the hand that hadn't been crushed, ignoring the jagged agony that spiked with each movement, continuing even as despair crept over her. What did she think she was doing? Even if she found Rukia, what could she do for her -- bleed on her? She couldn't protect her, not anymore. She hadn't even been able to protect her sister before a cart had run her over.

It had happened so fast. She hadn't meant to fling Rukia away from her, but the terror had overcome her, too fast for her to stop. She'd promised to look after the baby, their parents had made her promise -- she hadn't --

COULD I LEND YOU A HAND?

Hisana looked up at height and blackness.

Blackness was definitely the word for it. It was different from the ordinary night-time dark that made up the rest of the world. This was a supreme black, black beyond black, a person-shaped hole into a universe of blackness.

It spoke again.

SINCE ONE OF YOURS SEEMS TO BE OUT OF ORDER, it said. There was an odd inflection in the world-shattering voice. HA. HAHA.

It was hope, Hisana realised. The voice sounded _hopeful_.

THAT WAS A JOKE, it added.

"It wasn't very funny," said Hisana.

NO, the voice agreed sadly. I DON'T QUITE SEEM TO BE ABLE TO GET THE HANG OF THEM.

"Am I dying?"

The blackness folded. A skull hovered into view.

It had blue glows in its eyeless sockets, a quiet voice in her head noted over the terror.

YES, said Death.

There didn't seem to be anything to say to this.

"Thank you," said Hisana anyway. "I'm sorry, but could you -- my sister?"

The blackness moved away, rustling faintly. Rukia's cries turned puzzled, then dwindled to an inquiring whimper.

"She likes you," said Hisana.

REALLY? said Death. Hisana would have thought Death above such feelings, but he sounded . . . pleased. PEOPLE DON'T USUALLY LIKE ME.

"Rukia," said Hisana, with the weariness of months of babysitting, "never does what other people do. She's not good at being usual."

She waited, but Death did not give her her sister.

SHE'S VERY SMALL, he remarked after a while.

"It runs in the family," she said. "Could I -- ?"

AH, said Death after a while. SHE APPEARS TO HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP.

"It's all right, just pass her to me -- "

I WOULD, said Death, BUT SHE HAS ATTACHED HERSELF TO MY FINGER.

There was a brief silence.

SOMEWHAT FORCIBLY, Death added.

Hisana turned her face to the road, the old exasperation rising.

ARE YOU --

"She always does this," said Hisana. "She always makes things _difficult_!"

AH . . .

"I try and I try and she doesn't even -- aren't things hard enough already?"

WELL . . .

"She always has to make things worse!"

SHE IS JUST AN INFANT, Death said tentatively.

The shame fell on her again, stilling the anger. The world blurred.

"I know," Hisana said. She could not cry. She didn't deserve to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The face -- skull -- came close again. This time there was no fear. The blue glows were kind.

SHALL I DO IT NOW? said Death.

She had always been a coward. Hisana clenched her fists, and hoped Rukia would die in a more fitting manner.

"Yes," she said. "Now."

A flash of blue, and there was no pain.

Hisana looked down at her broken body, and then at herself. She could see the road through her wavering white hand.

Death was still tall from this angle.

"Is that it?" she said.

AH, said Death, peering down at the bundle in his arms. He seemed distracted. NO. NOT EXACTLY. I BELIEVE, ACCORDING TO THE CUSTOM IN THIS UNIVERSE, AN . . . OFFICIAL SHOULD COME SHORTLY TO DISPATCH YOU.

"Dispatch me where?"

SOMEWHERE ELSE, said Death. RUKIA, DID YOU SAY?

"What?" said Hisana. "Yes, Rukia. Will you -- will she -- "

YOU DON'T THINK YSABELL IS A NICE NAME? said Death hopefully. NO, RUKIA, YOU'RE RIGHT, OF COURSE. AS A MIDDLE NAME, PERHAPS? . . . NO. RIGHT.

Hisana stared up at him.

"You're taking her?"

Death seemed embarrassed.

IT IS LONELY, he tried, BEING A DEAD INFANT IN YOUR WORLD. AND ALBERT WOULD LIKE THE COMPANY, PROBABLY. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, but wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Thank you," said Hisana. "Thank you. I -- "

YES, WELL, I'LL JUST BE GOING NOW, said Death hastily. YOU SHOULD WAIT FOR YOUR UNIVERSE'S OFFICIALS TO PROCESS YOU. IT SHOULD NOT TAKE LONG.

"Sir . . ."

Death paused. Hisana looked up. She would remember this -- height, unimaginable distance, the sharp contrast of black and white, an immovable impassivity of countenance -- and associate it with kindness, kindness incredible, unlooked-for, and undeserved, for as long as her spirit continued.

"Please," she said, "look after her better than I did."

I AM NOT SURE THAT IS POSSIBLE, said Death. Hisana smiled.

She was still smiling as Death vanished, his voice lingering on the night wind. (It was saying, COOCHIE COOCHIE COO?) She was smiling when the black butterfly darted past her, and she smiled as she turned, finally free, to meet her own death.


	2. Coup de main

**Coup de main**

Susan pushed open the door and stepped into Death's kitchen.

"All right," she said. "This had better be _important_."

Albert was alone in the kitchen, which wasn't a surprise. His surprise was.

"Who told you?" he said.

SQUEAK.

"We thought she'd better know," said the raven apologetically. "It's only fair. You know _he'd_ want them to meet."

Albert's habitual expression of chronic misanthropy returned, wiping out the surprise.

"Dunno," said Albert. "Wouldn't surprise me if he hasn't so much as thought of Susan since -- " he paused, glancing at Susan -- "since you know when. Hasn't been thinking of much else, I'll warrant."

"What is it?" said Susan.

Albert, the raven and the Death of Rats exchanged glances.

SQUEAK.

"He _would_ be glad to see her," said the raven. "You know he is. He's a family man at hear -- at rib -- to the core. Or he'd like to be, anyway."

"Fine," said Albert. "It had to happen sooner or later, I suppose." He heaved himself out of his seat.

"Just don't blame me when you see it," he said to Susan. "I'd nothing to do with it. There's nothing to be done with him when he gets into one of his states."

"What's going _on_?"

"You'll see," said Albert. A high-pitched squeal ripped the timeless air of Death's abode. Susan's eyes widened. Albert's face grew even more sour.

"It'll all end in tears," he said. "You'd think he'd have learnt by now, but he never listens. You'll see. It'll all end in tears. _Again_."

* * *

Susan gaped. Death resettled the child in his arms.

It was, noted the one still part of Susan's mind that wasn't flailing in horror, dressed in the kind of explosion of lace and frills that certain mothers liked to apply to their little girls. Not Susan's mother. Susan's mother had run to the sensible and staid in clothing her child. Susan had never had to worry about getting her clothes dirty or torn when she was little; it was understood that that was what clothes were _there_ for.

The dress was primrose yellow. There were little white bunny rabbits dancing along the hem.

SUSAN, Death said. THIS IS YOUR AUNT RUKIA.

"What have you _done_?" said Susan.

SAY HELLO TO YOUR NIECE, RUKIA, said Death.

"You -- "

A jaundiced blue eye surveyed Susan from under black bangs. Then the little girl inserted a thumb into her mouth, and said deliberately,

"Goo goo ga ga."

It snapped Susan out of her horror in an instant.

"Take that thumb out of your mouth," she said. "Granddad, put her down. She's more than old enough to stand on her own. Now, what do we say to visitors?"

AH . . .

"Quiet," said Susan. "What do we say, Rukia?"

"_Aunt_ Rukia," said the child.

"You -- what?"

"You've got to call me Aunt," said the child stubbornly. "You're my niece."

"Answer my question or I will slow-cook you over a fire and feed you to a pack of wolves," said Susan evenly.

". . . Hello."

"That's right," said Susan. "And we'll remember that when we see visitors again, won't we?"

"'es."

"Good."

SEE? YOU ARE GETTING ALONG ALREADY, said Death happily. ARE YOU STAYING FOR DINNER? ALBERT IS FRYING SOMETHING, I BELIEVE.

"I . . . " A small hand tugged on Susan's sleeve. She looked down.

The dress was just a little too big for Rukia. It made her look even smaller, a tiny, huge-eyed creature drowned in sunshine and lace.

"There's fried cucumber fritters," said Rukia. "An' shira-tama. 'Least, it's s'posed to be shira-tama. It doesn't really taste like it."

"Yes?" said Susan. "What does it taste like, then?"

"Grease," said Rukia, after a moment's consideration.

IF YOU STAY, I COULD SHOW YOU THE NURSERY, said Death. I WOULD LIKE YOUR ADVICE ON THE INTERIOR DECORATION. EVERYTHING KEEPS TURNING INTO RABBITS.

"But -- " Susan deflated.

"I have a job, you know," she tried. "It isn't that I don't want to -- but I have a _life_. A real, human life."

YOU HAVE A FAMILY, said Death.

Susan stared down at the little girl. Rukia gazed back, her eyes wide and grave. She was too pale for her age.

She reminded Susan of somebody. Susan wasn't sure -- no, she _knew_ she didn't want to know who.

All the same.

"Yes," said Susan, giving up. "I seem to."


	3. Coup d'oeil

**Coup d'oeil**

Susan got Rukia on alternate weekends, partly because Death couldn't spare her any more often, partly because no amount of attachment to any kid could induce Susan to give up _every_ weekend. A young lady needed time to herself.

Usually they went somewhere educational, if only because hope sprung eternal. Susan was uncomfortably conscious that she and Rukia had more traits in common than she would have liked, but education didn't seem to be one of them. Rukia had no interest in being educated. Lessons slid off her like drunk tobogganers off a snowbank, despite Susan's efforts. Genua bored Rukia, Ephebe made her eyes glaze over, and she spent most of their visit to the Counterweight Continent trying to catch the koi in the Emperor's ornamental fish pond for dinner.

There seemed to be a decided vagabond streak in her, though Susan couldn't make out where it had come from. It worried Susan. Things didn't seem to _fit_ when she was with Rukia. It was a feeling that didn't make sense, and Susan liked things to make sense.

Rukia's favourite place on the Disc -- which, by and large, she viewed with a kind of haughty boredom -- was Ankh-Morpork. This worried Susan even more -- not so much for what it said about Rukia's inclinations, as discouraging as that was when you really thought about it, as for what tended to happen when you let Rukia loose amongst normal people. Well . . . normaler people, anyway. Take that incident in Biers, for instance.

She hadn't meant to bring her underage aunt into a bar. It had just sort of happened. After that incident at the shopping centre, and that thing with the Watch, and the whole string of events following Rukia's getting lost in the Shades, Susan had needed a drink, and she figured Biers was as safe a place as anywhere else. At least everybody there would know better than to bother them.

She really should have thought about it more, she reflected later. For one thing, she should have realised the kind of effect the sight of a little girl in a frilly blue frock with ribbons and bunny hair clips would have on an unprepared bogeyman. She could scarcely blame it for following its instincts.

That hadn't been the problem. Susan could deal with bogeymen in her sleep (this was, in fact, the best position in which to deal with a bogeyman, since it meant you were equipped with the necessary weaponry). No, what had happened _next_ had been the problem.

"Susan," said Rukia, in the penetrating voice of the displeased eight-year-old, "there is a man under the table."

"Hmm?" said Susan. "Oh. Right. Don't worry about it. It's just a bogeyman."

Rukia looked interested.

"Is it an Ethnic Folkway to hide under tables in Bogey?" she said. They had been doing Ethnic Folkways as part of Geography.

"Well -- yes, sort of," said Susan. "But there's no such place as Bogey. Bogeymen are . . . it's more of a job description. They hide so they can jump out and frighten children."

"I don't see what's so scary about being able to hide under a table," said Rukia, a child who called with the local embodiment of entropy 'Dad'. "_I_ could do that."

"It's not as easy as it looks," said a muffled voice from under the table. "There's a technique to it."

Rukia peered under the table. The bogeyman waved at her.

"How are you going to frighten me?" she said.

"Can't tell you," said the bogeyman. "'S a wossname. Trade secret."

"You're just saying that because you don't know," said Rukia, old in the ways and makeshifts of the adult world.

"Hold on, that's a pretty big assumption to make, missy -- "

"Don't make conversation with the nasty bogeyman, Rukia," said Susan absently. "Remember what I said about talking to strangers."

"It's not a stranger, it's sitting under our table," Rukia pointed out.

"Wait a minute," said the bogeyman. "Shouldn't you be screaming your little head off right now?"

"Should I?" said Rukia, genuinely interested.

"Well . . . " The bogeyman seemed stumped. "That's usually the way it goes, you know. I leap out of a closet or something, you kids do the screaming, we've both done our part of the job, yeah?"

Rukia thought about this. "But why do you want to scare me?"

"Well, 's my job," said the bogeyman. "You know, bein' a monster -- "

"You're not a monster," said Rukia.

Susan looked up.

"Yes, I am," said the bogeyman.

"Huh," said Rukia. "No, you're not. There's no such thing as monsters."

"Rukia," said Susan.

"But I . . . " The bogeyman paled, as impossible as that might seem in a creature consisting mostly of hair and halitosis. "Here, what's going on?"

Or maybe paled wasn't the word for it. The bogeyman wasn't going pale so much as _thin_, transparent, so that you could see the floor under it. You could see the floor right _through_ it . . .

"Rukia!" shouted Susan, pushing off the table. She looked around and snatched up her purse, cursing. The other customers were watching, the unspoken agreement that nothing unusual ever happened in Biers broken for once. Even in Biers, it wasn't common for patrons to fade out of existence.

"No! No, stop!" The bogeyman's voice had become high and shrill, wavering like the rest of it on the brink of nothingness.

I DON'T BELIEVE IN MONSTERS, said Rukia.

Susan found what she had been rummaging for and yanked it out of the purse, kicking the table over at the same time.

The blanket fluttered down on the bogeyman's head. It had rabbits on it. Some of them wore waistcoats.

"Aargh," said the bogeyman, and then silence descended on the room.

"There," said Susan. "Now it doesn't believe it exists either. Is that enough for you?"

"But -- "

"Come on, Rukia," said Susan. "We're going home."

"But Susan, we haven't even -- "

WE'RE -- Susan cut herself off.

"We're going home," she said. "_Now._"

She snatched Rukia up, tucking her neatly under an arm over her protests. She would be sorry the day Rukia grew too big to manhandle -- and that, thought Susan grimly, was something else she needed to find out about, as soon as possible.

"Put the bill for everything on my tab," she said to Igor. "And remove the blanket after we're gone. Tell it it can keep the blanket, if it wants."

"Right you are," said Igor, expressionless. "We won't be seeing you for a while, then."

"No. You won't," said Susan. Damn, it would take _ages_ for this to blow over, and it wasn't as if she even liked Biers, but it had been a place to go to, at least . . . "Sorry about the fuss."

She strode out while the going was good, keeping a dignified front -- or rather, back. It was only when they had got some way down the street outside that she broke into a run.

"Susan," said Rukia.

"Yes?"

"Am I in trouble?"

"Oh, yes," said Susan. "And I'm going to have a lot of fun figuring out exactly what kind of punishment you've brought on yourself this time. But first, I've got to get some things cleared up."

"What things?"

"Nothing to do with you," lied Susan. "Don't worry about it. Trust me, you've got more than enough to worry about as it is."

Unfortunately, she thought, it looked like that last part was true.

* * *

Despite what she'd told Rukia, Susan decided to mete out punishment first when they were both safely in Death's domain again. Rukia took it with surprising docility; none of her other trespasses had been of quite this magnitude, Susan supposed. Accidentally dropping Death's sword in the pond hardly approached the level of almost opinionating another living being out of existence.

Susan set her to peeling cucumbers.

"That's what we call justice tempered with mercy," she told Rukia.

"Not when Albert's doing the cooking," grumbled Rukia.

"Count your blessings," said Susan. She watched the mutilation of a few cucumbers, calming herself down in preparation for the coming interview, before turning to leave. She had opened the kitchen door when Rukia's voice stopped her.

"Susan?"

"Yes?"

Rukia sat hunched on the stool, her head drooping.

"I'm sorry," she said, in a small voice. "I shamed you."

And there was that feeling again, thought Susan. It was a sensory experience, though it had nothing to do with the ordinary five senses. But it was bone-deep knowledge. A feeling that things weren't -- weren't going wrong, exactly, but weren't going quite right either. As if -- Susan groped for a way to describe it -- as if some other story had barged into their own, and was warping the way things were supposed to go. As if mysterious outside forces were at work, and they were going off-course . . .

She shook herself. This was nonsense. It was the kind of thing a wizard might say, and you couldn't say worse of any line of reasoning than that.

"No. You behaved abominably, but you didn't shame me," she said. "You surprised me. There's a difference."

Rukia looked up hesitantly. "Really?"

"Yes. I'll never be ashamed of you, all right?" said Susan, wondering why she had to say it. _She'd_ never worried about honour and shame in her life. Had Albert been feeding Rukia some line about what was owed to Death? Surely Death had nothing to do with this quirk of thinking; she knew he believed in doing his duty, insofar as Death believed in anything, but he generally stayed away from the human intricacies of principle and reputation. After all, being Death was reputation enough.

"You could never do anything to shame any of us. _Embarrass_ us, yes," she amended. "You could do that easily. Granddad does it all the -- well, never mind about that. But shame us, no."

Yet another thing they'd have to discuss, Susan thought as she walked down the passage to Death's study. The list kept getting longer.

She really wasn't looking forward to this at all.

But it's my responsibility, thought Susan. I'm her au -- no, all right, she's my aunt. Anyway, I'm her niece. That makes her my responsibility, in a way.

And Death was Susan's grandfather, after all. She'd inherited more than a talent for swinging stick-shaped things and a really convincing speaking voice when she chose. Looking after the harvest ran in the family.

She knocked on the door.

ENTER.

"Granddad," said Susan, closing the door behind her. "We need to talk."


	4. Coup d'etat

**Coup d'etat**

Time works differently in the House of Death.

In fact, it would be more accurate to say that it doesn't work at all. What replaces it is a kind of recycled time. This is time that doesn't operate by the same rules as the kind of time humans live by. This time doesn't pass: it passes by. Again and again and again.

Humans can exist in this faux time -- Albert had been doing it for what would have looked like two thousand years in the outside world -- but technically, they can't live in it. They can't grow. They can't change or develop, not really ...

Technically, the rules were being broken.

* * *

_In _some _present_

The tea cup clinked against the saucer. In keeping with the decor of the house, both cup and saucer bore a sprightly pattern of withered black flowers.

"All right," said Susan. "You said last time you'd explain what was going on."

Death seemed uncomfortable.

YES, he said. WELL.

"_Granddad._"

SHE IS GETTING ON WELL, DON'T YOU THINK? tried Death. I WONDER IF YOU WOULD TAKE A LOOK AT HER MATHEMATICS. SHE SEEMS TO BE HAVING DIFFICULTY WITH LONG DIVISION --

"She's getting older," hissed Susan. "The last time I was here was two weeks ago. She's grown a _year_ since then. Her reading level's skipped three! Her height -- well, all right, her height hasn't changed much, but -- look, I've heard of growing too fast, but this is ridiculous!"

IT'S A YEAR AND A HALF, ACTUALLY, said Death.

"What?"

SHE TOLD ME SHE WAS NINE AND A HALF YESTERDAY.

"Yesterday," said Susan flatly. Death had the grace to sound embarrassed.

FOR LACK OF A BETTER WORD, he said.

"She's _growing_," said Susan. "I know you're not doing it. This isn't your style. It's too messy."

I BELIEVE ... I DO NOT KNOW FOR CERTAIN, YOU UNDERSTAND, said Death. BUT I BELIEVE AS MUCH TIME PASSES AS SHE DESIRES.

"That's what I mean! You can't tell me that's right for a girl her species! Humans aren't made for this kind of messing around with time!"

Death stared down at his tea.

"Granddad," said Susan. "What's going on?"

* * *

_At ten_

Rukia glared around at the snow-covered rooftop.

"When you said 'slay', I thought you _meant_ 'slay'," she said. "Where is the slaughter? -- O Harvester of Men."

I MEANT 'SLEIGH', said Death patiently. IT'S HOGSWATCHNIGHT. HOGSWATCHNIGHT IS NOT FOR SLAUGHTER. IT IS A TIME WHEN PEOPLE ARE JOLLY, AND PUT UP HOLLY. AND OTHER THINGS ENDING IN 'OLLY'. SUSAN DID EXPLAIN IT TO YOU, DID SHE NOT?

"She said it is a holiday for humans," said Rukia. She was peering around the roof as if still hoping to see a dead body, or at least a slash of red on the snow. In a ten-year-old girl wearing a jolly red hat with a white bobble, this was a somewhat unnerving expression. "It is not for such as us. Why are we here, Great Swallower of Oceans?"

IT IS A FAVOUR FOR A FRIEND, said Death. BESIDES, I THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE NICE FOR YOU TO SEE THE FESTIVITIES FOR ONCE. ALBERT DOES HIS BEST, BUT HE SAYS THE HOGSWATCH SPIRIT CANNOT REALLY BE CONVEYED BY BLACK HOLLY AND STOCKINGS WITH A SKULL MOTIF.

He hesitated. There were things you did not say to Rukia, if only because it would be a waste of energy. Rukia operated by different rules from everyone else. Not everything said to her in the outside world managed to make it across the gap to the reality in her head.

YOU _ARE_ HUMAN, YOU KNOW, he said finally.

Rukia did not answer. She had dived into the Hogfather's sack. The tiny sounds of her rummaging rustled on the night air to where Death stood beside the chimney.

He was not frowning, because a skeleton is naturally handicapped when it comes to these things, but there was a definite suggestion of a frown to him as he gazed at the feet protruding from the sack.

Death prided himself on being good at his job, something which came naturally to a being who was basically the personification of his job. But parenting was proving to be fuller of hidden pitfalls than he'd expected. He'd done this once before, and while he hadn't been the best father in the world -- or outside it, if you wanted to be accurate about it -- he'd figured experience would help him the second time around. He'd decided it would go _right_ this time.

It did seem to be going right. Rukia was healthy, precocious, and relatively well-adjusted considering her eccentric upbringing. And surprisingly well-behaved -- that was Susan's influence, of course. And yet ...

Everything was going right. Death just wasn't sure whose idea of right it was. He had a sneaking feeling it wasn't his.

RUKIA? as he said, just as his daughter popped out of the red sack.

"Serenity Belladonna Wouldbegood, of 21, Short Street," she said.

WHAT?

"She has been naughty this year," said Rukia, in the tone of one who has pondered long and hard on the matter. "Strike her off the list. She is undeserving."

ARE YOU HIDING SOMETHING BEHIND YOUR BACK?

"A pity the sack does not have coal," said Rukia reflectively. She brightened. "We could put snow in her stocking!"

RUKIA, said Death. PUT CHAPPY THE FRIENDLY BUNNY (R) BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT.

Rukia drooped.

"I bet she did _something_ naughty," she said, as the stuffed rabbit disappeared back into the bowels of the sack.

Death forbore to point out that Rukia herself was hardly free from sin.

THAT IS NOT THE POINT OF THIS HOLIDAY, he said. IN THIS SEASON, LAPSES ARE FORGIVEN. ENDINGS ARE HAPPY. CHILDREN RECEIVE GIFTS TO WARM THEIR LITTLE HEARTS.

"Yuk," said Rukia. "Don't be disgusting. O True Friend to the Poor."

Death hauled out the sack. He did not sigh, not having lungs to sigh out of, but he managed a noise that sounded remarkably like it all the same.

I WISH YOU WOULD NOT CALL ME THOSE THINGS.

"What else should I call you?"

DADDY WOULD BE NICE, ventured Death.

"That would not be _polite_," said Rukia freezingly.

AH, said Death. THERE IS THAT, I SUPPOSE.

* * *

_In the present_

SHE IS STRONG-WILLED, said Death.

"So was my mother," said Susan. "So was I, come to that. Neither of us could have manipulated time the way she's doing. Or was doing. Or will be doing. Granddad. Where did you get her from?"

NOBODY ELSE WANTED HER.

"She shouldn't -- " Susan pressed her forehead with a hand, then dropped it. She tried again. "It's not _healthy_. Not having any friends her age, getting her priorities in life all wrong ... "

* * *

_At twelve_

"Huh," said Rukia, when the group of young Assassins had passed.

Susan looked down at Rukia, though the child was so laden down with shopping bags it was hard to actually see anything of her. Susan didn't usually allow Rukia this much licence -- Death spoilt her enough, if only out of simple bewilderment -- but she'd behaved herself well on this outing, and when they'd passed the display of discounted rabbit-adorned stationery, Susan hadn't had the heart to say no.

Rukia had insisted on carrying the bags herself. Susan would be prouder of this if she didn't suspect Rukia had insisted mostly out of a knee-jerk dislike of letting anybody else near her possessions.

"They don't impress you?" said Susan. "I would've thought you'd approve of the job."

Rukia looked disdainful.

"Poseurs," she said. "They're just playing at it."

Susan caught a shopping bag before it disgorged its contents and hefted it up, letting Rukia re-adjust her grip.

"Then what do you want to be when you grow up?" Susan said.

"Death," said Rukia.

* * *

_In the present_

"I love her too," said Susan. "You know that. But she doesn't belong here. It isn't right. It's bad for her.

"And for the fabric of reality," she added, as an afterthought. "But especially for her."

* * *

_At fifteen_

Rukia had been thirteen the first time she drew Death's sword from its usual place in the umbrella stand. She tried the scythe as well, weighing it in her hand and enjoying the fizz of air molecules sliced in half, but she liked the sword better.

It had felt right in her hand. More right than anything else, ever.

She drew it now. The blue glow lit her pale face from below, casting wrong-way shadows.

"Hello?" said the old man in the bed. "Is that ... _you_?"

"It's me," she said dreamily to her sword. "Death."

This was what she was born to do. It had to be, no matter what Susan said about teaching and nursing and even exciting careers in the Watch. It couldn't feel this perfect, as though it was her destiny, as though her whole life had been leading up to this one thing, if she wasn't meant to do it.

Right?

"You're a little shorter than I expected you to be," said the wizard. "And, er. More female."

"You're thinking of my father," said Rukia. "I'm standing in for him for the time being."

She brought the sword down.

* * *

_In the present_

I DO NOT WISH ... said Death to his tea cup. SHE IS MY DAUGHTER.

"That's why," said Susan. "That makes it even more important, don't you see? You're responsible. You took her in."

I HAVE DONE MY BEST FOR HER, said Death.

"I think," said Susan, "you have to let her go."

Death didn't look up. And then he did.

Susan's heart dropped.

NO, he said. IT IS NOT SAFE.

"It's not safe to keep her either," said Susan. "You don't even know what she is!"

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND, said Death. IT IS NOT _SAFE_. HERE, I CAN PROTECT HER.

"How do you know she'll always stay here?" said Susan, but she knew it was a losing battle.

* * *

_Somewhere else_

Imagine nothing, if you will.

Of course, you won't. It's impossible to imagine nothing. It's nothing. To aid the process, then, imagine nothing ...

Clothed in grey robes, hanging in space, watching the Discworld fail to go round, and getting _very annoyed_.

One said, who is this?

One said, she _changes_ things.

One said, she is wrong. She does not belong here.

One said, he's always messing things up. I for one am sick and tired for the whole business.

One said, you said 'I'.

One said, what? Don't be silly, of course I didn't, I wouldn't say a ridiculous thing like 'I' -- oh shit.

One vanished. One popped into existence, radiating smug disapproval.

One said, it is _he_ who introduced this element of chaos?

One said, where did he get her from?

One said, she is not from here. She should not be here.

One said, she must be neutralised.

One said, how?

One said, there is an idea ...

* * *

_In the present_

"Or she'll go," said Susan. "She'll go herself one day, if you don't let go of her first. You know she will. It always happens."

THEN IT WILL BE HER DECISION, said Death. BUT SHE WILL ALWAYS HAVE A PLACE HERE.

"Oh, Granddad," said Susan. She looked tired. "No, she doesn't. She doesn't have a place here. She never did."


End file.
